out, raking fingers through the tangles. She stopped moving when the lake came into view.
Shadow Valley Lake was nearly eighteen square miles of water, much of it surrounded by tall grasses, angry geese and a well-beaten path courtesy of Cade County fishermen. Her apple, now covered in ants, lay in the grass near a massive oak tree. “I was there. Eating that apple.” She regretted leaving the trash behind. “I’ll take that with me when I leave this time.”
Blake examined the ground near her apple. “The apple’s evidence now. Look.” He pushed the grass back and forth with his shoe, revealing two sets of imprints. Her Nikes and a pair of boots. He hovered his foot near the larger print. He fished his cell phone from one pocket and took pictures of the discovery.
Emotion coiled in Marissa’s gut. Her eyes stung, and her bottom lip trembled. She sipped cool air and forced her mind away from the vivid memories clawing at her heart. “The man with the bread crumbs was always right there.” She pointed to a crescent of mud and rock at the massive lake’s edge.
They moved toward the spot. Boot imprints striped the soft earth, as if he’d been pacing. “Do you see those?” she asked.
“Yep.” He snapped another picture. “Same tread pattern as the prints by your apple.”
Marissa bit into her thumbnail. No one had been at the lake on her predawn trip up the mountain, and she hadn’t seen anyone when she sat under the tree to enjoy her apple.
Blake scanned the area with sharp, trained eyes. He mumbled something under his breath and raised his phone again, this time for a picture of the lake.
Marissa followed his icy stare to a sprinkling of white flecks on the glassy surface. “Is that bread?”
“No.” Blake turned his phone over and tapped the screen. “Those are white rose petals.”
Marissa wrinkled her nose. “There aren’t any white roses in the park.”
“Hey,” Blake growled into the phone, now pressed to his ear. “Get me a cast kit. We’ve got pattern evidence at the lake.” He disconnected and gripped the cell phone in his palm. “Any chance the man you saw here a few months ago could’ve been tossing these onto the water instead of bread crumbs?”
“Maybe. Why? What do they mean?” She tried to hide the fear settling in her bones.
Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “The fugitive I’ve been chasing left white rose petals on the doorstep of his victims’ homes.”
“I’m guessing you don’t think these petals are a coincidence.” Marissa’s stomach sank as she watched the little white boats skating across the serene water.
Blake snapped more pictures of the petals. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”
Well, they had that in common. She turned away and closed her eyes, engaging painful memories. “He was singing ‘Going to the Chapel’ and leaves roses. Does he have a fantasy about marrying his victims?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t very forthcoming when I tried to haul him in, and we never found the women, but I assume this is all part of some sick fetish. He lost a girlfriend to suicide about a year before he took his first victim.”
Marissa opened her eyes and headed back to her fallen apple. She worked methodically around the grass, parting the blades with her shoe like Blake had. Maybe she could find a clue, too. Something Blake could send to the crime lab where his science and tech people worked.
Something moved in the distance. A few seconds later, Cole appeared with a backpack.
“How well do you know Cole?” Blake asked. He stopped a few feet ahead of her and waved to his brother. “You went to school together. Anything else?”
“Not really.” She tented her brows. Was she being accused of something? “We live in a small town and went to the same high school. We ran into each other from time to time. West and Ryder, too.”
Blake turned at the waist and narrowed his eyes on her. She knew all three of his little brothers, but he hadn’t met her until today? A nagging sense of injustice registered at the back of his mind.
“What?” She bounced her toe against something hard, and a little navy pouch flipped into view. “Hey, look at this.” Marissa crouched over the object. Recognition swept through her like a hurricane, sucking air from her lungs and pushing her attention in a new direction. She stood on wooden legs and stared at the tranquil lake behind them.
“What is that?” Blake crouched where she had been a moment before.
Marissa pressed a palm to her roiling stomach. She owned several pouches just like that one. “It’s a one-pound weight. They’re used on scuba belts.”
Cole settled in beside Blake and handed him the backpack.
Marissa pushed windblown hair from her eyes while the men bagged their evidence. Blades of ice seemed to wedge in her chest. “I know where he might’ve hidden those women’s bodies. I’d planned to do a photo shoot there soon.”
“Where?” the Garretts asked in near unison.
She lifted a finger toward the lake. The rose petals. The creepy song. “I think they’re in Shadow Valley.” Cade County’s historic lake town, submerged long ago in the name of flood control.
* * *
BLAKE MADE THE necessary calls to rouse a dive crew and the remainder of his team from Louisville. The agents arrived in just over an hour. The divers were another story, being parceled together from approved volunteers across the state, policemen, game wardens, anyone trained and available to thoroughly explore the remnants of an entire underwater town, door by door if necessary, while preserving as much potential evidence as possible. He’d also called in a favor with a local private security firm for additional help clearing the park and tending the curious crowd, which had been pushed outside the gates.
The space around the normally tranquil lake bustled with speculation and activity. Once all the divers arrived, things would get worse, and if Marissa’s hunch was right, more gruesome.
Her hunch. Not his.
Blake mentally kicked himself for never considering Shadow Valley Lake as a place to hide four bodies. If memory served, the Shadow Valley Chapel was one of the buildings swallowed by the lake. Finding victims in the underwater chapel would raise the stakes impossibly higher. That kind of discovery would suggest Nash was smarter and more resourceful than Blake had given him credit for. He’d always assumed Nash was the impulsive type, more likely to hide his crimes in a hurry than with careful planning and scuba gear. In fact, he’d considered Nash lucky for getting away at all. He’d blamed his own rookie hesitation.
Blake pressed the heels of his hands against closed eyes. What if Blake had been wrong all these years? What if the real mistake he’d made was underestimating Nash? The possibility came with all sorts of ugly thoughts. Blake had linked him to four missing women, but what if there were more? How many cases hadn’t he connected? What had Nash been doing these last five years while Blake chased his tail? Blake had assumed Nash was hiding, but what if Nash was still killing and Blake had missed it?
He scrubbed open palms over his face and forehead. How long had Nash been planning to take Marissa?
His attention cut through the collection of lawmen to where she rested her head against an oak tree not far from the lake. Her swollen eyes were shut. Her cheeks were red. The bruises from her attack had grown more pronounced as the day wore on, making Blake angrier with each passing second. He couldn’t seem to find it in himself to be thankful she was safe. He could only grow more infuriated that she’d been hurt.
She opened her eyes as he approached, a look of shock and panic on her face.
He lifted a hand and crouched beside her. “It’s only me. How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” Her knees bobbed with misplaced adrenaline. “Anything new?”